


Supernatural Omens

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Series: Team Free Will 2.0 [2]
Category: Good Omens, Supernatural
Genre: Adam Young is amiable but terrifying, Aziraphale and Crowley have a somewhat ambiguous friendship, Crossover, Crowley is an ex-demon, Friendship, Gabriel helps or hurts, Gen, Good Omens/Supernatural, Humour, angels on the lam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's Dean and Sam and Cas, plus Gabriel. Then there's Crowley and Aziraphale, who have fought apocalypses before. Maybe Team Free Will 2.0 has a better chance than anyone thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected Assistance

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of season 5 of _Supernatural._ the _Good Omens_ canon has been adjusted slightly to fit.
> 
> In this, I set the date of GO's almost-apocalypse at roughly around the new millennium, which puts Adam at university age.
> 
> There is a Good Omens-only prequel to this fic, called Rise, although all you need to know about that is that Crowley Rose from being a demon and upgraded his status to 'angel on the lam.'

**Chapter One: Unexpected Assistance**

Before Dean could do more than stare in horror at what Zachariah had just done, Castiel managed to grab onto Dean's arm and transport both of them elsewhere.

The moment they arrived, Castiel collapsed.

"Cas!" Dean scrambled to the angel's side.

Castiel was unconscious, and looked distinctly battered. He was also glowing dimly, which Dean figured couldn't be a good sign.

"Castiel!"

Dean pulled the angel into his arms to examine him better. Cas's breathing was laboured, and when Dean checked, his pulse was only weak.

Dean glanced around, but the two of them were out in the middle of nowhere, without a single building or road in sight.

"Gabriel!" he called, hoping, but there was no sign of the archangel.

The two of them were completely alone, and Castiel was in a bad way.

"Please," Dean prayed desperately, "if there _is_ a God out there, and you care about us at all, then we could _really_ do with some help right now."

The next moment a dark-haired man in a smart suit stumbled into existence only metres away, looking rather dazed.

He looked up.

"What was _that?_ " he demanded of the sky, in a British accent. "' _Help them?_ ' What kind of instruction is that? Haven't you ever heard of _details?_ "

"Hey!" Dean called.

The man spun, took once glance at Castiel in Dean's arms, and swore.

"Oh, bloody hell!"

The stranger hurried over, his gaze all for Castiel. As he crouched, Dean got a glimpse of worried, _golden_ eyes.

They weren't yellow though, but a genuine gold, that reminded Dean vaguely of spectacular sunsets and of the glint of his mother's wedding ring.

 _Focus_ , he told himself harshly. His brain was wandering everywhere.

"What _happened_ to him?" the golden-eyed man demanded, fixing Dean with a fierce stare.

"Angels," Dean said hoarsely. "Who are you, anyway?"

The guy's face twisted.

" _Angels_ did this to him?"

Dean got a glimpse of something dark and serpentine before all emotion was banished briskly.

"Yeah, a dick named Zachariah," Dean replied.

"Oh, I can see that," the stranger said darkly, examining Castiel with care. "He always was a little bastard. Should've been working for the other side, really. My name's Crowley."

"Crowley?" Dean repeated disbelievingly.

"What? It's better than being named 'The Covering of God,'" Crowley replied, putting a hand over Cas's forehead, and one over his heart. "You might want to look away for this."

And before Dean could quite do so, there was an explosion of white light.

Dean blinked away the spots in his vision to see Castiel's eyes waver open, and blue eyes fix blurrily on Crowley. Who, Dean was pretty sure after that display, was as far from a demon as anyone could get.

To Dean's surprise, Crowley promptly glared at the angel.

"You _moron!_ " Crowley snapped, grabbing hold of Castiel's shoulders, and Dean would have stopped him, except that Castiel was blinking up at Crowley in surprise, and slowly-dawning wonder. "Do you have any idea what they'll do to you, you great big featherheaded idiot? The last angel that Fell got chased down and slain by half a legion!"

"Sachiel?" Castiel managed to rasp out.

Crowley sat back in a huff.

"It's _Crowley_ ," he said, somewhat sulkily, and Dean stared, because apparently Cas's mysterious saviour was another angel. Which Dean had kind of expected, given the white light, but still, flash bastards who weren't complete dicks were kind of new in the angel department. "I mean, honestly, _Sachiel?_ Was Father feeling particularly uninventive that day?"

Dean couldn't help the snort. Part of it was just a kind of giddy relief that Castiel was _alive_.

Cas just blinked at Crowley in faintly disapproving confusion.

"You Fell to perdition."

"Well, obviously. And then I un-Fell."

"You what?" Dean blurted.

"That's impossible," Castiel said flatly.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"You're going to argue about this the whole time, aren't you?" he asked, with slightly weary insight. "So I Rose. Just because it never happened before doesn't mean it _can't_."

"Wait, you were a demon?" Dean was rapidly growing even more confused than Cas, which was kind of an accomplishment. "I thought demons were humans who sold their souls."

"Most of them are," Crowley agreed. "I was one of the True Demons, though. The first humanity ever met, actually: I was the Serpent of Eden."

He said this with a kind of gleeful pride, like this made him unspeakably awesome somehow.

Castiel frowned.

"But you Rose," he said slowly, as though this idea was going to take some time to adjust to.

"Yes, yes, I _Rose_ ," Crowley snapped. "Honestly, the only things thicker than angels are True Demons. It takes you half a century just to grasp the concept of clothes. I mean, Aziraphale still goes out in tartan and paisley jumpers, and _he's_ been here six thousand years. Something like Rising? Who knows how long that'll take to sink into your skull."

"Tartan?" Dean can't help but ask.

Crowley made a disgusted face.

"And pink," he added gloomily. "Angels have no fashion sense. Except for me, of course." He cast an appraising eye over Castiel. "Although, his outfit isn't too bad, if impossibly clichéd."

"Hey, Deano," said a familiar voice out of nowhere, right behind Dean's left shoulder. "You rang?"

Dean almost levitated.

"Don't _do_ that, Gabriel!"

" _What?_ " Crowley slewed around to stare at Gabriel with huge golden eyes.

Gabriel stared back, just as wide-eyed.

Crowley finally let loose with a long sigh.

"Well, bugger."

"Sachiel." Gabriel's tone was jovial, but his eyes were hard. "Last time I saw you looking this angelic, you were trotting around at Lucy's heels."

Crowley grimaced.

"Don't remind me," he muttered. "Look," he said, more loudly, "following Lucifer wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done."

"No shit," Dean coughed.

"But that's past me now, alright? I Rose, I renounced evil, and so on and so forth. I'm a, what's the expression, white hat."

"Uh-huh," said Gabriel, not convinced in the slightest. "And you Rose how, exactly?"

Dean was startled to see a tinge of pink appear in Crowley's pale cheeks.

"A group of demons got hold of Aziraphale," he mumbled.

Gabriel's eyes widened, and he leaned forward in sudden interest.

"Oh-ho!" he said gleefully. "Is that how it is?"

"Oh shut up!" Crowley snarled. He folded him arms, and looked sullen.

"I don't understand," Castiel said. "Surely it is commendable that Sachiel would Rise in defence of another angel."

"Well, yeah," Gabriel said, while Crowley hissed ' _it's Crowley!_ ' in frustrated tones, "except I've just worked out who he is."

The finger Gabriel pointed at Crowley was playful. Crowley eyed it warily.

"You were the Serpent, weren't you? Which means that you and Aziraphale have been down here for the last six thousand years while everyone else pretty much ignored you except for a memo now and then. Six thousand years, with only the other for company… who can blame you for getting, you know, _attached?_ "

" _Oh, you_ –" The suggestion that Crowley made was both very vulgar and very graphic.

Gabriel just grinned.

"We're _friends_ , for crying out loud!" Crowley said, looking exasperated. "I just… I just don't like admitting that I _care_ about the sappy idiot, alright?" He glared at Gabriel. "Can we change the subject now?"

"You're kind of angry, for an angel," Dean commented.

"Oh, believe me, six thousand years of dealing with Hell's bureaucracy would make you angry, too," Crowley said dryly.

"How'd you end up here, anyway?" Gabriel asked. "Haven't you spent the last four hundred years or so in Britain?"

Crowley somehow managed to scowl and look smug at the same time.

"I had _orders_ ," he said loftily, but sounding a little annoyed about it.

"You _what?_ " Gabriel's attention was suddenly focused on Crowley with the intensity of a laser beam. Castiel and Dean followed suit.

Crowley looked vaguely uncomfortable at the attention, but hid it well.

"You heard me," he said coolly, looking at them with speculative golden eyes that showed clearly that he was wondering how to use this. "So there I am, happily gluing pound coins to the sidewalk –" Gabriel and Dean both snorted " –when a certain Voice blares 'HELP THEM' in my ear, and next thing I know I find myself here, with a worried human and a beaten-up angel."

Dean glanced at Cas and Gabriel, not sure what to think of this.

Gabriel looked completely pole-axed, like someone had just hit him with a truck or something, while Cas was giving Crowley a blank stare, belied by the intense little furrow between his eyebrows.

"Anyway," Crowley said casually, straightening his suit, "I was due to meet Aziraphale at the Ritz at least ten minutes ago – shut _up_ , Gabriel – and he fusses if I'm late, so I'll see you later."

With an airy wave, Crowley vanished.

"Well, now. That was interesting." For once Gabriel looked thoughtful.

"Indeed," Castiel affirmed.

"So, some demon Rose to become an angel again? How's that interesting?" Dean asked.

"Oh, trust me, it's interesting." Gabriel gave a little Trickster smile. "You know I should drop in on Aziraphale in the next week or so, see how he's going. It's been a while."

With a snap of his fingers, Dean and Cas were back in Dean and Sam's motel room, and Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.

Castiel swayed slightly, still not entirely recovered.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed. "What happened?"

"Oh, you're going to like this, Sammy."

  



	2. Tea at Aziraphale's

**Chapter Two: Tea at Aziraphale's**

Aziraphale was just sitting down to a nice cup of tea when he was suddenly aware that he was no longer alone.

The newcomer's Grace was hidden, but Aziraphale had been spotting other angels for a long time, in all kinds of guises, and simply shrouding one's Grace was no longer going to work on him.

The other angel's Grace was different somehow, but Aziraphale recognised it all the same.

He turned and blinked at his visitor.

"Gabriel!" Aziraphale said in mild surprise, giving the archangel a welcoming smile. "Why, I haven't seen you in simply _ages_ , my dear."

In this case, 'ages' was the literal truth. Aziraphale hadn't seen the other angel since he was first posted to earth, and about a thousand years ago now Upstairs had bothered to send him a notice informing him that Gabriel had gone missing.

Gabriel's eyes widened in surprise and slight alarm at being recognised, but he covered it with a grin.

"Hey, little brother," he greeted Aziraphale. "Decided to stop by and see how you were going."

Gabriel stopped to stare at the table.

"Are those cream buns?" he asked in a hopeful voice.

Aziraphale stifled an inner sigh, a little guiltily. He'd been rather looking forward to those buns, since they had mysteriously appeared half an hour ago, with only a brief note to identify the giver. But it wouldn't be polite not to offer Gabriel one.

Besides, as Crowley had pointed out, not entirely kindly, he was beginning to get fairly pudgy around the middle.

"Indeed," Aziraphale told Gabriel. "Would you like one?"

"Oh yeah." Gabriel eyed the buns in appreciation.

Aziraphale got out a second plate – " _tea, my dear?_ " " _no thanks_ " – and pottered back to the table, serving Gabriel one of the buns before sitting back down to his own.

One bite, and Gabriel's eyes went wide with delight.

"Okay, these are some buns," he said through a mouthful. Aziraphale heartily agreed with him; the freshly-baked buns were filled with real cream and sprinkled generously with sugar, and tasted absolutely _wonderful_. "Where'd you get them?"

"I think Crowley picks them up at a specialist bakery somewhere," Aziraphale said absently, and stopped, because Gabriel was grinning at him.

There was something devilish in that grin.

Aziraphale recognised it immediately, of course; Crowley had been aiming it at him for years.

Aziraphale felt instantly wary, and doubly curious at what Gabriel had been up to all this time.

"Crowley, huh?" Gabriel murmured.

"Why, yes," Aziraphale said, not allowing his inner wariness to show. "He's well-aware of my fondness for them, and has something of a habit of buying them for me."

He couldn't help smiling, a little fondly.

"Uh-huh. So, you two, you seem pretty cozy."

It took Aziraphale a few moments to recognise the leer, and a few moments more to put it together in his head.

" _Gabriel!_ " Aziraphale spluttered, flushing a brilliant red. "You're as bad as Crowley!"

Gabriel grinned wickedly, but there was a sudden clatter in the hallway.

"Angel!" Crowley's voice bellowed. "Are you in?"

He walked into the kitchen only to stop short at the sight before him.

"Aziraphale, what's he been saying to make you blush?" Crowley eyed Gabriel in weary suspicion, as though he could think of too many possibilities to count.

"I was just suggesting that you and Aziraphale are close," Gabriel said nonchalantly, but with a gleam in his eyes.

Crowley understood instantly, and groaned.

"Not _that_ again," he muttered, dropping into the seat next to Aziraphale, and glaring at Gabriel.

Aziraphale wasn't sure whether the glare was solely for Gabriel's insinuations, or partly for the fact that he had a half-eaten cream bun in front of him. Crowley was oddly … proprietary… about who ate the buns he got for Aziraphale.

Gabriel just smirked, clearly enjoying himself.

Aziraphale saw a glint of something rebellious in Crowley's eyes before he buried it, shifting into a more relaxed pose.

Oh dear. Crowley had taken this as a _challenge_.

That… wasn't good.

"You know, I didn't get a chance to ask last time," Crowley said casually, "but where've you been for the last thousand years? I mean, even Downstairs knew you'd nicked off somewhere, although no one could find out where. There was a commendation waiting for anyone who managed it."

Gabriel went still, and Aziraphale knew that as usual, Crowley had managed to find a weak spot.

He sighed. There was no stopping Crowley at this point.

"As I recall," Crowley mused, "there was even a bunch of nitwits who thought that if they managed to capture you, or recruit you – I don't think they were too sure on the details – that there might be a promotion in it for them. Ridiculous, of course, but there were demons scouring the globe for months, making nuisances of themselves. What I kept wondering though, was _why?_ How bad could things Upstairs possibly have gotten for an _archangel_ to go A.W.O.L.?"

"Crowley," Aziraphale said quietly, "that's enough."

Crowley stopped talking obediently enough, helping himself to a cup of tea and grabbing one of the cream buns.

"You're a real little bastard, aren't you?" Gabriel said softly.

Crowley just smirked, although Aziraphale, who knew him well, spotted the tiny amount of guilt that flickered in his eyes at Gabriel's tone of voice.

"I'm so sorry, Gabriel," Aziraphale said apologetically. "Crowley tends to lash out when he's teased."

"Yeah," Gabriel said, very dryly. "I got that."

Crowley reached out to snag another bun, but Aziraphale smacked his hand without even looking.

Crowley shook out his hand, looking disgruntled. Well, it served him right for upsetting poor Gabriel.

The archangel himself looked slightly amused by the byplay.

"I joined a pagan pantheon," Gabriel offered.

Aziraphale blinked. It took him a couple of seconds to follow the thread of conversation, and to realise that Gabriel was replying to Crowley's question.

When he did, he sent the archangel a reproachful look that made Gabriel flinch a little.

"Oh, my dear, was that _really_ necessary? It seems so improper. Stop _snickering_ , Crowley."

He elbowed the former demon, but Crowley smiled back unrepentantly, eyes alight, evidently enjoying the sight of an _archangel_ cowed by Aziraphale's stare.

Well. Yes. It was the _teensiest_ bit impressive, wasn't it?

"Leave him alone, angel," Crowley said, in a moment of entertained mercy, and possibly to make amends for needling Gabriel earlier. With Crowley, one couldn't always tell. "I'm sure he had his reasons."

"Yeah," Gabriel said, sending Crowley a look of mingled suspicion and gratitude.

Things went better after that, without anyone prodding at each others weak points.

The rest of the conversation was commonplace and cheerful, and it was only once Gabriel left that Aziraphale noticed the way that Crowley was frowning.

"Crowley? What is it?"

"He was sizing us up for something," Crowley said grimly. "I'm not sure what, but he's definitely after something."

Aziraphale tilted his head thoughtfully. Whatever Gabriel was up to, he doubted that it was malicious.

"Well. We'll simply have to wait and see what it is, won't we, my dear?"

  



	3. Conversation

  
**Chapter Three: Conversation**    
Gabriel was gone for a week, before turning up again unexpectedly.

It sort of reminded Sam of that line in the Narnia books, about how Aslan wasn’t a _tame_ lion, which was pretty geeky even for him, and which Dean must never, ever hear him say. It was pretty amusing to picture Gabriel’s face, though, if Sam had ever mentioned the concept of a ‘tame archangel’ – because if one existed, then it had to be Gabriel, despite his come-and-go habits. Tame in the half-feral way a lot of cats were, maybe, but Gabriel was still coming around for food and opportunities for ego-strokings, wasn’t he?  
Okay, Sam had officially weirded himself out with that one.

As usual Gabriel appeared right behind Dean, with an upbeat _“hey, boys!”_ and an amused grin as Dean bounded forward in shock.

Castiel did much the same thing whenever he appeared, only with less evident enjoyment, and Sam had occasionally wondered if in fact all angels did have a sense of humour, and they all got a kick out of startling Dean.

Sam did have to admit, it was kind of funny.

“We need to get you a bell or something,” Dean complained, which fit right in with Sam’s thoughts of Gabriel-as-kitty from earlier, making him snort.

Gabriel assumed an air of injured innocence.

“I try and help you out, and this is the thanks I get?”

For some reason Gabriel had always tried much harder to wind up Dean – although weirdly, Sam was pretty sure it was actually an affectionate thing.

But then, given the number of times Dean had flushed the toilet while Sam was in the shower or put dye in his toothpaste when they were kids, the idea of tormenting someone out of fondness wasn’t that hard to accept.

“Where’ve you been, anyway?” Dean wanted to know.

“Visiting that pal of Crowley’s,” Gabriel responded. “Aziraphale.”

“How’d it go?” Sam asked curiously.

“I think I might be able to talk them into joining our side,” Gabriel said, frowning a little. “My little brother’s smarter than he looks, though, and Crowley always looks for an ulterior motive, I think. I’m pretty sure he knew I was there for a reason. Little bastard.”

Sam and Dean glanced at each other at the sour note in Gabriel’s voice.

“What’d he do?” Dean asked, a little too eagerly.

“Oh, Crowley just likes to press people’s buttons, that’s all,” Gabriel said lightly. “He was always a bit annoying, and being a demon for six thousand years hasn’t improved his personality any.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean said, his face skeptical.

“Right,” Sam said, just as doubtfully. Whatever Crowley had done, it had annoyed the archangel more than he wanted to let on.

Gabriel huffed and rolled his eyes.

“He wanted to know where I’d been the last thousand years, and asked some pointed questions about why,” he elaborated. “No big.”

“You said Crowley was always annoying,” Sam frowned. “What was he like, when he was an angel last time?”

Gabriel had to sit back and think about that one.

“I always had more to do with Aziraphale than Sachiel, not that I saw much of either of them. Sachiel was a cherub, which is kinda mid-way through the angelic hierarchy, while Aziraphale’s a Principality, which is just a bit below the seraphim in general,” Gabriel explained. “From what I remember, Sachiel got bored really easily, and was always sort of anti-establishment – oh, he’d do what you told him, but he was impertinent about it and was always asking questions about exactly the kind of things you didn’t want him thinking about. Bit like Dean, actually.”

Dean looked as though he wasn’t sure whether to smirk, or be displeased at the comparison with the irritable angel.

Sam smirked.

“So, no surprise he followed Lucy, really. Aziraphale, on the other hand... back in the day he was a pretty formidable opponent with a sword. He was always a compassionate guy, and with morals of steel, one of the upright obedient ones, but he had this soft spot... Look, you ever hear about the Guardian of the East Gate?”

“No.”

“That’s one of the angels who guarded the Garden of Eden, isn’t it?” Sam asked, shooting Dean a look.  
“That’s right. Good memory you got there, Sammy. Well, Aziraphale was the Guardian of the East Gate when the whole thing with Adam and Eve went down, and no one noticed right away, but eventually some one realised that his sword had gone mysteriously missing, and Aziraphale was being weirdly cagey about it.”

This sounded interesting.

“Apparently Father himself even came down to ask about it, and Aziraphale said – get this – ‘ _I had it here only a moment ago, must have put it down somewhere_.’” Gabriel’s face reflected his incredulity at the obviousness of the lie. “Father just looked amused and didn’t ask again, I’m told, but I heard later that someone worked out that Aziraphale had given it to Adam and Eve before they were tossed out, to give them some protection against the big bad world.”

“So what you’re telling us,” Dean said, looking a little amused and a little at a loss, “is that Aziraphale’s just a big softy?”

“ _No_ ,” Gabriel said, with unexpected vehemence. “What I’m telling you is that he’ll always do what he thinks is the right thing, even if it means being sneaky and disobeying direct orders. Dean, he gave away his sword, and _lied to God about it_. That, right there, tells you everything. Yes, he can be a bit of a soft touch, but he’s not a wimp.”

“So what we might have, if they agree to help us out,” Sam summarised, “is a rebellious angel who hates authority and was a demon for a while before deciding to swap sides again, and an angel who usually follows orders, but has the balls not to if he thinks they’re wrong?”

“Pretty much,” Gabriel agreed.

“Awesome,” Dean decided.

For once Sam genuinely couldn’t tell whether he meant it, or what being sarcastic.

“Well,” Sam sighed, “they’ll fit right in, I guess.”  



	4. Your Friendly Neighbourhood Antichrist

**Chapter Four: Your Friendly Neighbourhood Antichrist**    
Sam was chatting to Gabriel and grabbing his stuff out of the Impala when someone cleared their throat. Sam turned to see a man a few years younger than him standing nearby, looking at Gabriel.

He looked like a statue of a Greek god, done in colour, with golden curls and chiselled features and a muscular physique that showed even under the baggy t-shirt and jeans he was wearing.

"Hullo, Mr Gabriel," the guy said, in a slow, thoughtful voice, in an accent Sam couldn't quite place. "Heard you've been wanting to talk to me."

Gabriel's lips quirked slightly, even though he was regarding the man warily beneath the cheerful mask.

" 'Mr Gabriel?' "

The man shrugged.

"It's politeness. It's good to be polite. Politeness makes the world go round, my mum always says. I dunno about that, but a little politeness never hurt anyone."

Gabriel was regarding the guy as though he'd never seen anything as bizarre in his life.

"Wow." To Sam he sounded almost awed. "You definitely didn't get your manners from Lucy, did you?"

The dude frowned.

"I don't like to talk about that." He turned to Sam. "I'm Adam Young, Mr Winchester. It's nice to meet you."

"Uh, yeah." Sam was still kind of reeling from the implications of Gabriel's words. He really, _really_ wanted to, but something told him not to ask. "Same here."

It didn't help that Adam seemed to naturally have enough personality for about a busload of people, and being hit with it drove most of the thoughts out of Sam's head.

"So what do you want to talk to me about, Mr Gabriel?"

Gabriel just stared at him for a moment.

"Well, it's like this, Adam. It looks like dear old dad's going to be escaping Hell and bringing the apocalypse sooner than we thought. You feel like helping out?"

Adam considered them both. His eyes really were an amazing shade of blue.

"I don't think so," he said, in measured tones that told Sam that Adam had already thought about this, and wasn't planning on changing his mind. "I stopped the apocalypse last time. It's not fun, stopping apocalypses. Brings out all kinds of things. I think someone else should stop it, for a change."

Sam opened his mouth to protest heatedly, but met Adam's eyes.

Adam's eyes were _knowing_ , and weary, and impossibly wise, as though he'd discovered all the world's secrets and now had to live with them. They spoke of an understanding so far beyond Sam's comprehension that he couldn't find the words to argue.

"Why?" Sam asked instead.

Adam gave him a long stare. Sam couldn't help wondering uncomfortably exactly what the guy saw.

"Suppose you deserve a bit of an explanation," Adam conceded. "All right, Mr Winchester. Thing is, I'm human, see? But a human wouldn't stand a chance against Lucifer. So I'd have to use all the bits of me that aren't human, and by the end of it I wouldn't be Adam Young any more, I'd be the bit that tried to take over last time. And that bit of me'd destroy the world better than Lucifer ever could."

Sam didn't understand, not really, but Gabriel had gone almost white. Clearly, the archangel understood just fine, and didn't like the idea at all.

"I'd talk to Mr Crowley and Mr Aziraphale, if I was you, though," Adam continued. "They were nice and helpful last time."

Gabriel snorted.

"Crowley's a complete coward," he said, rather doubtfully.

"He is a bit," Adam agreed. "It's why no one expects it when he turns around and bites them on the ankles. Crowley's a snake, Mr Gabriel. You frighten a snake well enough, and you'll find it's got fangs and venom pretty quick. Everyone forgets that Mr Crowley's got venom still."

He nodded at Sam and Gabriel gravely.

"It was nice talking to you, Mr Gabriel, Mr Winchester. I'll be seeing you."

Abruptly he was gone.

Gabriel let out a long, wondering breath.

"Boy, the kid's a chip off the old block."

Sam sent him a confused look. He'd never met anyone less like Lucifer in his life.

Adam radiated wholesomeness and _goodness_ , and the compassion and wisdom in his eyes had left Sam feeling dwarfed.

Gabriel read Sam's expression correctly.

"What, you think Lucy was always that much of a jerk? Hell no. Used to be just like Adam, once. The kid's politer though, and doesn't have Lucy's arrogance. He seems to genuinely care about everyone too, which is more than Lucy ever did, really."

Gabriel's words were light, but his eyes were sad.

" _Sam!_ " Dean's voice suddenly bellowed down into the motel car park. "Gabriel! What's taking you so long?"  
Sam sighed, while Gabriel rolled his eyes.

"We'll be up in a minute, Dean!" he called back.

"Hey Sammy?" Gabriel asked quietly, when Dean's silhouette had vanished back into the motel. "Don't mention this to anyone, okay?"

Sam thought about it.

"Yeah," he agreed soberly.  



	5. White Hats

**Chapter Five: White Hats**  
   
   
   
Crowley’s good mood ended abruptly as he stepped into his flat and saw who was waiting for him.  
   
“Hullo, Mr Crowley.”  
   
“Nrgle,” said Crowley.  
   
Adam unslouched from his position on the couch. It had been eleven or so years since Crowley had last seen Adam, and in that time he had blossomed fully into a young Adonis in a Bay City Rollers t-shirt.  
   
“It’s a nice place you’ve got here,” Adam said amiably, as though he weren’t a being powerful enough to blast Crowley into non-existence and whose mere presence was enough to warp reality everywhere he went. Archangels had nothing on him. “I like this Kinect thing you’ve got. Nice and interesting, this Kinect. I see you’ve been treating your plants better.”  
   
“Adam,” Crowley croaked. The young man’s odd, humanlike Grace filled the room.  
   
“That’s right,” Adam agreed. “I came about something important I thought you and Mr Aziraphale should know about. There’s a lot of things going on, but the really important bit is that they’re opening the seals to let Him Downstairs out.”  
   
Crowley felt the blood curdle in his veins.  
   
“And instead of doing something helpful, the angels have been messing people about. You expect demons to go messing people about, but it’s not right when angels do it.”  
   
Crowley wanted to point out that it wasn’t exactly right when demons did it, either, but didn’t think that would go down well.  
   
He kept his mouth shut.  
   
“Someone needs to stick up for people, Mr Crowley. Mr Castiel and Mr Gabriel and the Winchesters have been trying, but they could use a bit of support.”  
   
Crowley suddenly knew where this was going.  
   
“Oh, no,” he insisted. “I’m not doing that again, do you hear me? It was bad enough last time!”  
   
“Do you want Lucifer to rule the world, then?”  
   
Crowley flinched. He _remembered_ Lucifer’s temper.  
   
“You’re a demon who Rose, Mr Crowley. Think about it. The angels’d smite you as soon as look at you. And as far as Hell’s concerned, you defected. How do you think Lucifer would feel about a demon defecting? I don’t suppose he’d be very forgiving. Not exactly the forgiving sort, Lucifer.”  
   
Crowley tried _really hard_ not to think about it, but for just a second the thought got through.  
   
It made him want to throw up.  
   
“The way I see it,” Adam said thoughtfully, “earth’s the only place you’ve got, really. If I was you, I’d be wanting to hold onto it for a bit longer.”  
   
 _Oh, bugger_ , Crowley thought wretchedly, because Adam was right, and Crowley could see every other choice draining away and only leaving the one, suicidal option.  
   
“Why me?” Crowley asked. “Why can’t _you_ do something? You’re the Antichrist!”  
   
Adam stood. Fully unslouched and standing, he was a bit like the Platonic ideal of a basketballer, only better proportioned, or maybe the Greek god of height. He had to be somewhere near seven feet tall, surely, Crowley thought.  
   
“Have you ever read Nietzche?”  
   
“Met him. Arrogant bugger.”  
   
“Gaze into the abyss, and the abyss gazes into you. Do you want to know what kind of an abyss I’ve got?”  
   
“No,” said Crowley. “Not really.”  
   
“Mm. You’ll find a way to explain this to Aziraphale, I expect.” Adam paused. “Tell Mr Castiel and Mr Gabriel that Grandad’ll get back from holidays eventually.”  
   
“ _Grandad?_ ” Crowley said faintly.  
   
“Oh, and tell Mr Aziraphale to look out for Mr Castiel. He got smote by Raphael a little while ago. Grandad put him back together and everything, but he’s still a bit traumatised and all, I reckon.”  
   
“ _Erk_.”  
   
“I’ll be seeing you then, Mr Crowley.”  
   
Adam nodded to him, and lapsing back into the usual student slouch, loped over to the apartment door and showed himself out.  
   
Crowley contemplated the situation for a while.  
   
Right. No way he was doing this sober.  
   


* * *

   
At first Aziraphale had been resistant to the idea of getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon. He had several excuses.  
   
“What about the customers?” he asked Crowley, actually wringing his hands slightly.  
   
Considering the way he reacted whenever a customer actually entered the store, Crowley would have thought that the angel would have been delighted by an excuse to keep them out. But that was Aziraphale for you.  
   
“It’s urgent. Trust me, you don’t want to be sober for this.”  
   
Crowlety had convinced him, in the end, and by early evening the two of them were completely smashed.  
   
“This is… this izza good bottle,” Aziraphale slurred slightly.  
   
“Nice,” Crowley agreed. He was quite a bit drinker than Aziraphale, and was beginning to feel all kinds of warm, fuzzy feelings that he normally buried fairly deeply. “You know, you’ve got nice eyes. Nice and blue.”  
   
Aziraphale blinked them at him.  
   
“You’ve got nice eyes too. Sort’ve gold.”  
   
Crowley tried to remember why they’d started drinking in the first place, but his brain kept trying to hide the answer from him.  
   
“You said, you said there was something important,” Aziraphale told him.  
   
Even under the effects of alcohol, Crowley winced slightly as memory hit him.  
   
“Oh. That. Saw Adam.”  
   
“Adam?” Aziraphale repeated, all at sea.  
   
“Antichrist. Great big tall bastard. Lots of hair, Grace the size of a small county.”  
   
“Oh, _Adam_.”  
   
“Came to see me. He said. He said.” Crowley frowned in thought. “Seals.”  
   
“Seals?”  
   
“Seals.” Crowley was proud of himself for remembering that much.  
   
“Saw a seal once,” Aziraphale offered. “Big furry thing. Ate fish. Fishermen shot it,” he added dejectedly.  
   
“No, no, no.”  
   
“Yes,” Aziraphale insisted. “Shot. Very sad.”  
   
“No, no. Not them. Other seals. Great big ones.”  
   
“Giant seals?”  
   
Crowley paused. This wasn’t going anywhere.  
   
He huffed in frustration.  
   
A single world in Enochian was dropped into the conversation.  
   
“ _Oh_.”  
   
“Yeah. Giant seals that stop Lucifer. Only some bugger’s opening them all.”  
   
“That’s not good,” Aziraphale said after a moment’s silence.  
   
“Cas – Cash – wossisname and Gabriel been stopping it, Adam said. Helping. Want us to help. Humans, too.”  
   
The two of them considered this for a while.  
   
“I’m sobering up,” Aziraphale decided.  
   
Crowlet slumped in his seat, and pondered taking on the form of a snake so that he could coil into a ball and pretend that the world wasn’t there. But how would he pour himself more wine without hands?  
   
“Last time didn’t go too badly,” Aziraphale offered, in the tentatively bright tones of an entrenched optimist.  
   
Crowley reluctantly sobered as well.  
   
“Last time we had an Antichrist to end it all for us, and fix everyone’s memory afterwards. If we try and stop _this_ apocalypse, they’re going to notice.”  
   
“Well, yes,” Aziraphale admitted, “but you realise, that once the apocalypse has actually come and gone, they’re going to remember our involvement in the last one. Adam’s influence on earth only exists while it’s, well, _earth_.”  
   
Crowley felt acutely depressed, and rather trapped.  
   
This was as much by his own conscience as the circumstances he found himself in. It had been easier to ignore when he was a demon, but Crowley’s conscience shone a little brighter since his Rising.  
   
Still, at least they’d have an archangel on their side, this time, which was something. And Crowley was a firm believer in the idea that there were very few situations he couldn’t get out of through intelligence and cunning, particularly where Heaven or Hell were concerned.  
   
He had _imagination_. If fighting a war actually came down to wielding a flaming sword, then clearly you were doing it wrong, or really, _really_ screwed.  
   
And Crowley had picked up some interesting ideas during the Cold War that might come in handy.  
   
“I’m not going to win this argument, am I?” he asked in resignation. “Sod it. Right. I’m going to completely wipe myself out with a 2005 _echezeaux_ , and then tomorrow we can prepare to go off on a heroic suicide mission that will probably end with the two of us being tortured horribly for all eternity.”  
   
“What an excellent idea, my dear.”  
   
The two angels proceeded to do exactly that.


End file.
